Fog, like a China wall,
an enameled dragon, silver
slithers and crawls
toward the western horizon
swallows the mandarin sun
whole like a host
down its grey-gauze throat
burying alive all light,
all hope in its stranglehold
on the evening air.
I have seen nothing
more beautiful than this moment:
the death rattle of day;
the spasm of twilight.
by Paul Totah
August 28, 2004